


Our little rose

by VanillaMostly



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Compliant, Family, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 21:45:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6442090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanillaMostly/pseuds/VanillaMostly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some fluffy pieces about Margaery. Mostly Tyrell love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our little rose

**Author's Note:**

> Found a bunch of old fics on my laptop that I never posted. Some of these were quite good, if I do say so myself. hehh. I was really obsessed with Margaery (well, I still think she's pretty awesome!) i just love how there's so many ways to interpret her character. Here's my version.

 

Margaery flowered on her twelfth name day. Impeccable timing, if she did say so herself. Her mother and cousins fussed over her all day. She was changed into a new gown of evening mauve, of the finest silk, "and not any less for our little rose," Mother said, and her hair was brushed so often it stopped looking like hair in the looking glass.

Grandmother wasn't one to gush or fuss, but she did let Margaery walk with her to the feast. "You're a woman now," the Queen of Thorns said, linking her tiny arm with Margaery's. "You do know what that means?"

Margaery smiled, leaning over to kiss her grandmother lightly on her withery cheek. She liked how her grandmother smelled, never musky sweet of perfume like many women of the family wore, but clean and warm, like milk.

"I love you, Grandmother," said Margaery truthfully.

Grandmother cast her a look from the corner of her eyes. "Never a straight conversation with you, strange girl," she sniffed.

Margaery squeezed her grandmother's hand, knowing that her grandmother understood. That had always been their way.

Her father was awaiting them at the Grand Hall. He grabbed Margaery into his trademark bear hug, lifting her off her feet and making her giggle. "Look at you, my little rose," he exclaimed in his booming voice. Margaery could see her grandmother rolling her eyes behind him and that made Margaery laugh harder. "What a beauty you're turning into. Aren't I right? Look at you!"

"I haven't looked," said Grandmother dryly. "Mace, dear, next time start on the mead _after_ the guest of honor arrives, would you?"

"Willas, Garlan," greeted Margaery, before her father could retort.

She folded into each of her brothers' arms. Garlan's beard tickled her cheek. "Happy name day, sister." He was flushed and sweaty, and must have just returned from training with the master-at-arms, but Margaery didn't mind.

When it was Willas's turn, he held out one arm - the other had to lean on his stick. She knew his leg must be hurting, his injury not yet fully healed, but he was smiling ear to ear for her. She pressed her lips to his cheek gratefully, raising herself on her toes. He was the tallest of all of them.

She loved her two brothers much so, but she couldn't help turning a glance around the hall once Willas released her. One glance, however, was enough to plummet her heart. "He tried," said Willas, easily reading her disappointment, "but Lord Renly has a tourney in King's Landing. Here, he sent a letter."

 _A letter isn't the same_ , thought Margaery, but today she was a woman grown, not a child anymore, so she had to accept the letter with a nod and a smile.

"Loras will be home soon, sweetling, don't you fret," said Father cheerily. "Now," he said, guiding her by the elbow to her seat, "it's time... Alerie, my lady, tell them to stop the music for a moment." Margaery waited indulgently for the speech her father made on her every name day. "Ladies, lords, good folk of Highgarden. As you all know, today my fair Margaery is twelve years old. She is such a blessing to our lives and a most special treasure." He raised his cup. "To our little rose."

"To our little rose," the hall echoed.

In the years before, she would give no more than a gracious smile in response, but this year, just as the applause faded to quiet, she stepped forward and said in a voice loud and clear, "Thank you for celebrating my name day with me. I can't say that there is anyone more fortunate than I, to be surrounded by so many who love me."

Her mother dabbed at her eyes and her father boomed his approval as applause resounded in the hall. Even Grandmother slipped a crack of a smile. Margaery, inclining her head demurely, sank into a most beautiful curtsy.

 

*

 

Loras wasn't sure what to make of it, that his father was trying to set his sister to marry Robert Baratheon. He had seen the king up close on several occasions; after all, the king was Renly's brother. Renly had much fondness for his big brother, that much was clear. He always boasted to Loras of how gallant his brother was, how strong and fierce, how handsome... well, _was_ being the key word. Nevertheless, Renly held the king in high esteem. "For all his faults, at least Robert has a sense of humor," he'd said once, "he's not a boring dry sap like Stannis."

But you didn't have to be close to the king's brother to know the king's _reputation._ Everyone in the realm talked of his infidelity to the queen, his drinking, the weight he'd put on since his heroic days... and then there was the fact that he was twice Margaery's age.

He put aside the letter from Father and drew up old letters from Margaery, but as he had thought, there were no signs that his sister knew about the plans. That didn't mean much, however - his sister had proved to be shrewder than Loras could ever imagine. If she didn't wish you to know something, she would never reveal it. On the other hand, if you wished her not to know something, she always had a way of knowing.

Loras could still vividly remember that day, two years ago, when he'd gone home after being away for four years. All at once the changes had struck him - his father was older, his hair thinning and greying; his mother so strangely small, for he now towered over her (and most of the family); Willas leaning on a stick, though his smile was much the same; Garlan married; Grandmother even sharper-tongued, if that was possible. And Margaery - she wasn't the little sister he had left, not at all. She wasn't _little_ anymore, and by that he didn't mean her height, though she was indeed taller. No, it was her mannerisms, her expressions, her choice of words. He couldn't get used to her presence for the first few days, so shocked he was to see her acting like... well, a grown _woman_ , though that shouldn't have been surprising.

The real surprise, though, came one cool evening when Margaery had suggested they take a walk after dinner, just the two of them. They had linked arms and sat at their favorite fountain, their secret spot from their childhood days, legs dangling over the water. They'd talked about trivial things, this and that, and Loras was just relaxing in the knowledge that nothing _had_ changed between them after all, when Margaery asked, "When were you going to tell me about Renly?"

Loras had blinked, completely stumped. "What?"

"Renly," his sister had repeated. She patted his hand, in almost an endearing way, as if _she_ were the older one. "I've tried to be patient, dear brother, I have, but the wait is driving me mad."

"I don't know what you - "

"Oh, are you being _coy_?" she had asked with a roll of her eyes, which she had quite clearly learned from their grandmother. "Come now. I had my suspicions from the letters you started describing his eyes. But the moment I saw you and him, standing together..."

She had smiled her knowing smile - a sight he would be see again, much so in the future - and Loras knew there was no way out of that.

Thinking back on it now, Loras shook his head. Father could scheme all he wanted, but it was Margaery who held the key in her palm. She was the precious daughter, their one and only "little rose." No one would ever force her into what she didn't want.

And what Margaery wanted, well, only Margaery herself knew.

 

 

*

 

Willas loved quiet mornings like this, when the light rain mist from last night made the grass and leaves glow fresh. The sun still hung low in the sky; the woods were empty but for him. Gwyn on his arm liked mornings like this, too. She ruffled her feathers, eager to take flight, as Willas fastened the bells onto her feet.

"Good morning, sister," he called, without looking up.

A long stretch of silence, before Margaery huffed and slipped out from behind one of the redwood trees.

"How did you know?" she asked, pouting petulantly. Moving to Willas's side, she reached to stroke Gwyn's feathers, giggling when Gwyn snapped her beak at her fingers. "Did Lady Gwyn tell on me? She's never liked me."

"Gwyn doesn't like maidens in general."

"Oh? I think she only likes you, brother," Margaery teased with her sly half-smile.

The two of them watched Gwyn soar into the air, her long wings stretched gracefully. Margaery clapped her hands, bouncing on her feet. She was still wearing bedchamber slippers.

"Best not let Grandmother catch you," warned Willas. He didn't bother mentioning Mother; it went without saying that Margaery has been getting Mother to bend to her every whim for years.

"Grandmother appreciates a little wildness now and then," said Margaery daintily.

Willas shook his head, smiling inspite himself. "There's no way of winning against you."

Margaery laughed, somehow managing it to sound both ladylike and free. "That's only because you love me too much."

She joked and quipped with characteristic brightness, and that would have been certainly enough their father, mother, or Garlan. Willas was no Grandmother, and certainly not Loras, who grew up with Margaery attached at the hip, but Willas could still see past his sister's charades, in moments like this, at least.

"Tell me what's the matter."

She feigned surprise, not one to give in easily. "What do you mean?"

"You didn't sneak out of bed at the crack of dawn to watch Gwyn gorge on mice and worms."

"Do I really need a reason to spend a beautiful morning with my brother?"

"Whenever you are ready, little sister."

Margaery held up her hands, yielding in surrender, and beckoned Willas closer. He could sense her restlessness even more clearly now. Something was definitely on her mind.

She stood on tiptoes and whispered in his ear.

When she released him, Willas glanced around, ensuring that they were truly alone but for hawks and forest animals. "You're serious? The king, Robert Baratheon?"

"No, a king in Essos," said Margaery dryly, doing a quite accurate imitation of their grandmother.

"Are they _mad_? He has a wife, and three children at that."

"Queen Cersei and King Robert fight almost every night, I have heard, and the king is always - well..."

"Finding pleasure elsewhere?"

"He isn't the most faithful," said Margaery unabashedly. Willas was glad to see that her constant retinue of tittering, blushing lady cousins had not influenced her disposition. She shrugged. "Grandmother says with men like that, you can't do anything about it other than a gelding." She even said the last part with a perfectly straight face.

"And you don't mind marrying a man like that?"

"His behavior isn't proper," she said primly, "but he isn't malicious. He lost the love of his life once, you know. Really he is miserable, and the queen can't see it, or she refuses to. She wants a husband who loves her and only her. It's quite an unfortunate marriage," she said wisely.

Willas stared at her, not sure whether to be bemused or amused. "You sound like you know them well."

Margaery pursed her lips. "Loras wrote to me," she admitted, "and he would know. Lord Renly is the king's own brother."

 _Loras, Renly,_ thought Willas, _and Grandmother, too, no doubt_. He was neither appalled nor indignant at the extent of his family's ambitions, only exasperated by now. Willas had never felt the need to seek more than he had; in this he must have taken after his mother's side of the family. Even before he had hurt his leg in the tourney, he'd never understood the allure of competitions and titles.

He looked at Margaery, lovely in her plain cotton nightgown and hair unbrushed and loose, forming lazy waves around her face. She was only fourteen, he often had to remind himself. As the youngest, she shouldn't have burdens placed on her that'd be better suited to Willas - but as it were, she was their family's only daughter, upholding all of Father's hopes and aspirations. Maybe once Willas wed and gave heirs of his own, and did his duty as the eldest son...

Margaery touched him on the shoulder, jerking him from his thoughts. "Willas, it's alright," she said, as if reading his mind. She did have a funny knack for that, a trueborn skill probably sharpened by their grandmother's teachings. "Father only mentioned it once. Nothing will happen, in all likelihood, it's such a far-fetched plan."

His sister was comforting _him_. What a big brother he turned out to be. "It isn't fair to you that they make such a plan in the first place."

Margaery squeezed his arm, fondly. "Oh Willas, you are sweet to think so. But don't be angry, they just want the best for me."

Willas appraised her for a second. "What do _you_ want, Marge? Do you want to be queen?"

Margaery gave him a smile that could melt all the snow north of the Wall. "I think I would make a good queen. The realm needs a good one, a just one, a queen to protect the poor and weak."

"Will that make you happy?"

"I love you, Willas, and Mother, Father, Garlan, Loras, Grandmother, and all our cousins and aunts and uncles. If the people I love are happy, then I shall be happy also."

She looked like she truly believed it. For all her uncanny wit and keen insights, her shining brown eyes beheld a childlike innocence. _A child of summer,_ Willas could not resist thinking.

He wrapped his free arm, the one not holding his cane, around his sister and pulled her close to kiss her lightly on the forehead. "I hope you will find it, dear sister, your happiness in whichever shape and form."

Gwyn chose that moment to fly back, zooming between them so suddenly that Margaery shrieked and even Willas jumped back, startled. "Thank you, dear brother," laughed Margaery, "and I do believe you just made your Lady Gwyn dreadfully jealous."


End file.
